Belgarath the Sorcerer (53 page)

After our first few meetings, we invited King Ormik of Sendaria to join us. Ormik's mother had been an Alorn, so his inclusion was right and proper. The fact that we were all spending a lot of time at Riva didn't go unnoticed. Ran Borune's intelligence service wasn't as good as Rhodar's, but even the most half-witted spy in the world could hardly miss the fact that
something
was in the wind.

Torak spent a dozen or so years establishing his absolute domination of Mallorea - all unaware that Garel had married an Algar girl, Aravina, in 4860, and that a year later she had given birth to her son, Gelane. Then in the fall of 4864 the Murgos and Nadraks closed the caravan routes to the east. The howls of anguish in Tol Honeth echoed from the jungles of Nyissa to the arctic wastes of Morindland. Ran Borune sent diplomatically worded protests to Rak
Goska and Yar Nadrak, but they were generally ignored. Ad Rak Cthoros, the King of the Murgos, and Yar Lek Thun of the Nadraks were taking their orders from Ctuchik, and neither one of them was going to cross that walking corpse just because Ran Borune had his feelings hurt. I don't know if Ctuchik even bothered to tell Gethel Mardu of the Thulls about the planned invasion of the west, since Gethel probably didn't even know which way west was.

The closing of those trade routes was a clear signal that Torak was about to move, so Brand declared the port of Riva closed ‘for renovations', and Eldrig's war-boats enforced that declaration. Things were definitely going downhill for the merchant princes of Tol Honeth.

After the sealing of the port of Riva, we gathered once more in the Citadel. ‘Things are coming to a head, father,' Polgara noted. ‘I think it's time for you to go have a talk with Ran Borune.'

‘Maybe you're right,' I conceded glumly.

‘Why so long a face, Belgarath?' Brand asked me.

‘Have you ever met Ran Borune?'

‘I've never had the pleasure.'

‘That's not the right word, Brand. The Borunes are stubborn and contentious, and they absolutely refuse to believe in anything the least bit out of the ordinary.'

‘Shouldn't we alert the Arends, too?' the leather-clad Cho-Ram suggested.

‘Not yet,' I replied. ‘It's probably a little premature. If Torak's more than two days from their eastern frontier, they'll forget that he's coming.'

‘The Arends aren't
that
stupid, father,' Pol protested.

‘
Really?
Oh, Cho-Ram, see if you can get word of what's afoot to the Gorim of Ulgo, and Ormik, why don't you move your supply dumps down to the north bank of the Camaar River? If we're going to have a war in Arendia, we'll need groceries.'

‘We can live off the land if we have to,' Rhodar said.

‘Of course - for maybe a week. After that, we'll be eating our shoes, and you wouldn't care for that.'

I left for Tol Honeth the following morning and arrived there two days later. Ran Borune IV was a young man who'd only been on the imperial throne for a few years. The Third Borune Dynasty was still in its infancy, and the Borunes hadn't yet shaken all the Honethites and Vorduvians out of the government. The Honeths in particular were
very
upset about the closing of the trade routes to the east and the ‘renovations' at Riva. A day without profit sends a Honethite into deep mourning, and so a steady stream of officials, high and low, were beating on Ran Borune's door imploring him to do something. As a result, it was several days before I got in to see him.

Over the centuries, the various imperial families in Tol Honeth have devised a fiction that makes them comfortable. They sagely assure each other that the names ‘Belgarath' and ‘Polgara' are hereditary titles. Accepting an alternative would have been out of the question for them, so I came at Ran Borune rather obliquely to avoid a long argument about something that wasn't really that important. ‘Have you heard about what's happening in Mallorea, your Majesty?' I asked him.

‘I understand that they have a new emperor.' Like most members of his family, Ran Borune was a small man - probably the result of their Dryad heritage. The Imperial throne of Tolnedra had been designed to be impressive, so it was quite large and draped in imperial crimson. Ran Borune IV looked a great deal like a child sitting on a piece of grown-up furniture.

‘How much do you know about that new emperor in Mal Zeth?' I asked him.

‘Not all that much. Mallorea's a long way away, and I've got things closer to home to worry about.'

‘You'd better
start
worrying about Kal Torak, because he's coming this way.'

‘What makes you think so?'

‘I have sources of information that aren't available to you, Ran Borune.'

‘More of
that
tired old nonsense, Belgarath? That might impress Alorns, but it certainly doesn't impress me.'

I sidestepped that rather smoothly. ‘I'm not referring to that, Ran Borune. The information comes from Rhodar's intelligence service.
Nobody
can hide things from a Drasnian spy.'

‘Why didn't Rhodar let me know?'

‘He
is
letting you know. That's why I'm here.'

‘Oh. Why didn't you say so? I'll send emissaries to Mal Zeth to ask the Mallorean emperor what his intentions are.'

‘Don't waste your time, Ran Borune. He'll probably be on your doorstep in a few months, and then you'll be able to talk to him in person.'

‘What sort of man is he? And why did he choose that particular name?'

‘He's arrogant, implacable, and driven by an overwhelming ambition. The word “Kal” means King and God in Old Angarak. Does that give you any clues about him?'

‘A madman?' Ran Borune looked startled.

‘
He
probably wouldn't see it that way - and the Angaraks
certainly
don't. He's convinced them that he's really Torak - largely by having the Grolims gut anybody who
didn't
believe. He's coming west, and he'll be driving all of Mallorea in front of him.'

‘They'll have to get past the Murgos first. Murgos despise Malloreans, and they certainly won't bow down to a Mallorean emperor.'

‘The Murgos do what the Grolims tell them to do, Ran Borune, and the Grolims have accepted this Kal Torak as the
real
Torak.'

He began to gnaw on one of his fingernails. ‘I think we might have a problem,' he conceded. ‘Have Rhodar's spies found out why he wants to invade us?'

‘To rule the world, I suppose,' I said with a shrug. ‘We
don't know exactly why, yet, but his ultimate destination seems to Arendia.'

‘
Arendia
? That doesn't make any sense at all!'

‘I know, but that's what Drasnian intelligence is picking up. If we don't do something to stop him, you're going to have a very large, unfriendly army camped on your northern border.'

‘He'll have to come through Algaria to get to Arendia.'

‘That's our best guess, too.'

‘Are the Algars ready for him?'

‘The Algars have been getting ready for an Angarak invasion for the past three millennia. So have the Chereks and the Drasnians. Alorns and Angaraks don't get along at all.'

‘So I've heard. I think maybe I'll put the legions on standby alert.'

‘I'd go a little further than “standby”, Ran Borune. I had a look at some of your legionnaires on my way here. They're pitifully out of condition. You'd better toughen them up a bit. I'm going back to Riva now. I think it's time to beef up the defenses of Algaria. We'll keep you advised if Rhodar's spies pick up anything else.' Then I bowed and left.

I've used that ploy many times in dealing with Tolnedrans. The supposed omniscience of Drasnian Intelligence can be very useful at times. It's easier to lie to them than to tell them where I'm
really
getting my information.

In the spring of 4865, Kal Torak led his Malloreans across the land-bridge to Morindland, and then he started south along the coast. After he'd passed the mountains of Gar og Nadrak, however, his entire army disappeared into that vast primeval forest that blankets the north.

I've been involved in a lot of wars over the years, and I think that might have contributed to my failure to predict what Torak was going to do. A human general will take the shortest, easiest route to get to a battlefield. He doesn't want to waste the lives of his troops, and he doesn't want them to be exhausted when the fighting starts. Torak,
however, was most definitely
not
a human general. The lives of his troops meant nothing to him, and he had ways to make them fight, no matter how exhausted they were.

At any rate, the Alorn Kings and I were so convinced that Torak would continue down the coast to Mishrak ac Thull that we were taken completely by surprise when he led his army of northern Murgos, Nadraks, Thulls, and Malloreans down out of the mountains in western Gar og Nadrak and out onto the moors of eastern Drasnia early in the summer of 4865.

Torak himself made the journey in a silly-looking iron castle, complete with useless towers and ostentatious battlements. It had wheels on it, but it still took a herd of horses and about a thousand Grolims to pull it. I shudder to think of the amount of labor it took to clear a road through the forests of Gar og Nadrak for that ridiculous thing.

It became clear almost immediately that Kal Torak came not as a conqueror, but as a destroyer. He was not interested in occupying Drasnia and enslaving the people. He wanted to kill them all. Such Drasnians as
were
captured were immediately sacrificed by the Grolim priests.

In retrospect, I can understand what he was doing. He had to reach Arendia, of course, but he gave himself enough time to exterminate the Drasnians before he proceeded into Algaria or Cherek to do the same thing there. Arendia was secondary in his thinking. He wanted to wipe out the Alorns before he got there.

Our mistaken assessment of his probable strategy had pulled us seriously out of position, and his hordes had destroyed Boktor before we could get enough forces north to offer any serious resistance. Since we were hopelessly outnumbered, we didn't even pretend that we were making war. We rushed north on a rescue mission instead, gathering such refugees as we were able to find. Eldrig's war-boats took large crowds of terror-stricken Drasnian civilians off the islands at the mouths of the Aldur and
Mrin rivers, and Algar cavalry rounded up those who had fled south toward Lake Atun and escorted them to the relative safety of the Algarian Stronghold. A large column of refugees from Boktor made a truly astounding trek north from their burning city to reach the valley of the River Dused, where it forms the border between Drasnia and the Cherek peninsula. For the rest of the population, the only escape was into the fens. Very few of them survived.

Once it became clear that there was no way that we could match the army Kal Torak had hurled at us, we concluded that Drasnia was lost. I had to do some fairly brutal things at that point to salvage as much of the superb Drasnian army as I could. I didn't even bother trying to argue with the grief-stricken Rhodar. I simply drove him and his pikemen south onto the plains of Algaria. I was fairly sure I was going to need them later.

And so, by the midsummer of 4866, Drasnia had perished. When we went back there after the war, we couldn't find so much as a single house still standing, and there were only a few thousand survivors hiding out in the fens.

When it was over, Kal Torak paused to regroup. Our problem at that point was trying to guess which way he'd go next. Would he sweep on across the north and invade Cherek? Would he go southwest in an attempt to reach Arendia by marching across Sendaria? Or would he lead his hordes south into Algaria? The most frightening prospect of all was the distinct possibility, given the size of his army, that he'd simply divide his forces and do all three at the same time.

That
strategy would have defeated us. I'm really rather surprised that he didn't think of it himself.

King Eldrig of Cherek was an old man with white hair and a long white beard by now. He stood at the window looking out over the rain-slashed harbor at Riva. It was about two weeks after we'd managed to extract the last survivors out of Drasnia. ‘You know him, Belgarath,' he said. ‘How does he think? What's he going to do next?'

‘I think you're asking the wrong man, Eldrig,' Rhodar said bitterly. In many ways, Rhodar of Drasnia was a broken man now. He only lived for vengeance. ‘Holy Belgarath hasn't had much luck with his guesses lately.'

‘That'll do, Rhodar,' Brand said firmly in that deep quiet voice of his. ‘We're not here to chew old soup. We're here to decide what we're going to do now, not what we should have done last month.' The revelation that Brand was going to be the Child of Light during this particular EVENT had given him a great deal of authority, and the Alorn Kings all automatically deferred to him.

‘We know that he'll ultimately wind up in Arendia,' Ormik of Sendaria said. Ormik was one of the most ordinary-looking men I've ever known. Even people who knew him probably couldn't have picked him out of a crowd. ‘Doesn't that mean that he'll turn south once he's regrouped his forces?'

‘And leave his rear exposed?' Eldrig scoffed. ‘Not very likely. I think he'll be at the gates of Val Alorn before the month's out.'

‘Don't expect him to do what's rational,' I told them. ‘I think that what happened to Drasnia more than proves that. He had no business coming through the Nadrak forest,
but he did it anyway. He doesn't think the way a human general would.'

‘Why did he destroy Drasnia?' Rhodar demanded with tears in his eyes.

I shrugged. ‘Revenge, most likely. The Drasnians almost wiped out the Nadraks in that battle during the third millennium.'

‘That was nearly twenty-five hundred years ago, Belgarath,' Rhodar protested.

‘Torak's got a very long memory.'

‘The main question right now is whether or not he'll divide his forces,' Cho-Ram said. Cho-Ram was idly sharpening his saber, and the sound of his whetstone on steel set my teeth on edge.

‘It's out of character for him,' I said, ‘but we can't really be sure this time.'

‘I'm not sure I follow that,' Cho-Ram said, laying his saber and whetstone down on the table in front of him.

‘Torak doesn't like it when his people get out from under his thumb. Back before the war of the Gods, the Angaraks were the most tightly controlled people on earth. Things have changed a bit since then, though. Torak's got disciples now, and he leaves a lot of things up to them. Ctuchik might suggest a division of forces, and Zedar certainly would.'

‘Would Torak listen to them?' Polgara asked me.

‘I can't really be sure. He wouldn't
like
the idea, but he might be able to see the necessity for it.' I squinted out through the rain-spattered window. ‘This is only a hunch,' I admitted, ‘but I
don't
think he'll divide up his army. If he were going to do that, he'd have done it when he came out of the mountains onto the moors of Drasnia. That would have been the logical time for him to send a column south into Algaria, but he didn't. He tends to have a one-track mind. Obsessive people are like that, and maybe obsessive Gods are as well. I just don't think he'll divide his forces. Whichever way he decides to go, he'll take all his people
with him. He's not really here to win battles. He's here to destroy, and that takes a lot of troops.'

‘Then the only real question is who he'll destroy next,' Eldrig said. ‘
I
think he'll attack Cherek.'

‘What for?' Cho-Ram demanded. ‘All your men are on your war-boats where he can't get at them.
I
think he'll invade Algaria next. He's got an appointment he has to keep in Arendia, and that means he's got to get past me first.'

‘Or me,' Ormik added quietly, ‘and my people aren't very warlike. If he wants to get to Arendia in a hurry, he'll come through Sendaria.'

‘Isn't this all a little contemptible?' Rhodar asked pointedly. ‘You gentlemen saw what happened to
my
kingdom, and now you're all coming up with reasons why we should mass our forces inside
your
borders.'

‘Aloria is one, Rhodar,' Eldrig told him. ‘We
are all
aggrieved for what happened to Drasnia.'

‘Where were you when I needed you, then?'

‘That was
my
fault, Rhodar,' I told him. ‘If you want to throw rocks at somebody, throw them at me and leave your brother kings out of it. The Mrin Codex tells us that Torak's going to lay siege to the Algarian Stronghold - eventually. It
doesn't
tell us if he's going to go someplace else first.'

‘When does he have to be in Arendia?' Eldrig asked.

‘We don't know,' I replied sourly.

‘Does
he
know?'

‘Probably. He's the one who's moving this time. We're making counter-moves. When Cherek and his boys and I went to Cthol Mishrak, we knew when we had to be there. Torak didn't know when we were coming.
We
had the advantage
that
time.
He's
got it
this
time.'

‘Then about all we can do is wait,' Brand said. ‘We'll have to watch him and stay mobile. Once he starts to move, we have to be able to respond immediately.'

‘That's not much of a strategy, Brand,' Cho-Ram objected.

‘I'll be happy to listen to alternatives.'

‘There
is
something else we can do,' Polgara told them. ‘I think it's time for us to bring in the other kingdoms - Tolnedra in particular. We're going to need the legions.'

‘Ran Borune doesn't like Alorns, Polgara,' Eldrig told her. ‘I don't think he'll even listen to our diplomats.'

‘Maybe not, but I think he
will
listen to me - and to my father. We'll talk to the Arends as well - and the Nyissans.'

‘I wouldn't waste my time on the Nyissans,' Cho-Ram said disdainfully. ‘They're so drugged most of the time that they wouldn't be any good in a fight.'

‘I wouldn't be so sure, Cho-Ram,' I told him. ‘If I can get one good Nyissan poisoner anywhere near Torak's field kitchens, he'll kill more Angaraks than an entire Tolnedran legion could.'

‘
Belgarath!
' Cho-Ram exclaimed. ‘That's
horrible
!'

‘So was what happened to Drasnia. Torak's got us outnumbered, so we've got to come up with ways to even things out.' I stood up. ‘Stay flexible, gentlemen. Polgara and I are going south for a while.'

It took Pol and me more than a week to locate the encampment of the Asturian duke and his green-clad archers. In part that was due to the weather. The endless, accursed rain wreathed down through the trees like mist, obscuring everything on the ground. Even when Pol and I resumed our own forms for brief periods, she smelled like a bag-full of wet feathers, and I'd imagine that I reeked like a sodden dog. Neither of us mentioned it, but we sat on opposite sides of our campfire each night.

I hesitate to use the word, but it was only by chance that we finally found the Asturian encampment. A very brief break in the weather cleared away the prevailing mist, the wind dropped, and Pol was able to see the smoke rising from their campfires.

The Asturian duke's name was Eldallan, and he was a lean, youngish man dressed, as were his men, all in green - people who hide out in a forest usually do choose that color. The Asturian encampment was quite extensive.
There were a few tents scattered about, but most of the archers lived in crudely built huts that closely resembled the homes of the serfs. I suppose there's a certain justice there. Eldallan's archers were young noblemen for the most part, and sleeping in mud and wattle huts gave them a chance to see how the other half lived.

Eldallan was less than cooperative - at least right at first. He'd had his men build him a crude chair, and he sat in it as though it were a throne with his eight-year-old daughter, Mayaserana, playing with a doll at his side. ‘That's an Alorn problem,' he rejected our appeal. ‘
My
problem's the Mimbrates.' In what had probably been an effort to distinguish themselves from their countrymen to the south, the Asturians had discarded the ‘Thee's and ‘Thou's and ‘Forasmuch'es.

‘I'm sure you'll have second thoughts about that when you're stretched out on an altar with two or three Grolims carving out your heart, your Grace,' I told him bluntly.

‘That's just a fairy-story, Belgarath,' he scoffed. ‘I'm not gullible enough to believe Alorn propaganda.'

‘Why don't you let me talk with him, father?' Pol suggested. ‘I know Arends a little better than you do.'

‘Gladly,' I agreed. ‘This skeptic's right on the verge of irritating me.'

‘Please forgive my father, your Grace,' she said sweetly to the duke. ‘Diplomacy's not one of his strong points.'

‘I'm no more inclined to accept your horror stories than I am his, Lady Polgara. Your one-time affiliation with the Wacites is well-known. You have no reason to love Asturians.'

‘I'm not going to tell you horror stories, your Grace. I'm going to
show
you what the Angaraks did to Drasnia.'

‘Illusions,' he dismissed her proposal with a shrug.

‘No, your Grace. Reality. I speak as the Duchess of Erat, and no true gentleman would question the word of a noblewoman - or have I erred in assuming that there
are
gentlemen in Asturia?'

‘You question my honor?'

‘Aren't you questioning mine?'

He struggled with it. ‘Very well, your Grace,' he agreed reluctantly. ‘If you give me your word of honor that what you propose to show me really happened, I'll have no choice but to accept it.'

‘Your Grace is too kind,' she murmured. ‘Let's go back in time, and north to Drasnia. This is what
truly
happened when Kal Torak came down onto the moors.' I heard - or felt - the surge of her Will, and she made a small, curious gesture in front of his face as she released it.

I didn't see a thing, naturally, but the duke did.

‘Why, father,' the little girl at his side said when he cried out in horror, ‘whatever's the matter?'

He wasn't able to answer her. Polgara held him frozen in place for about a quarter of an hour. His eyes grew wider and wider, and his face turned deathly pale. After a few minutes, he was begging her to stop.

But she didn't.

He began to weep, and his daughter stared at him incredulously. I'm sure he wanted to cover his eyes with his hands, but his limbs were frozen, and he couldn't move. He groaned. He even screamed a few times, but Pol refused to relent. She kept him locked in place until he'd been forced to witness the entire horror.

He fell out of his chair when she finally released him, and he lay on the ground, sobbing uncontrollably.

‘What did you do to my father, bad lady?' the little girl demanded.

‘He'll be fine in a few minutes, dear,' Pol told her gently. ‘He just had a nightmare, that's all.'

‘But it's daytime - and he isn't even asleep.'

‘That happens sometimes, Mayaserana. He'll be all right.'

It took Eldallan about a half an hour to regain his composure, and when he did, he was ready to listen.

‘I'm not going to insist on a direct meeting between you
and the Mimbrate King,' I told him. ‘That might be pushing things a bit.'

‘He's not the king,' Eldallan corrected me almost absently.

‘
He
thinks he is, but that's beside the point. My daughter and I'll go to Vo Mimbre and talk with him. We'll hammer out the details of a truce between the two of you, and I'll arrange for some Sendars to act as messengers. Sendars are neutral, and they're honorable people, so there won't be any danger of trickery. Tell your archers to quit wasting arrows on Mimbrates. You're going to need every arrow you can lay your hands on when the Angaraks come.'

‘It shall be as you say, Ancient One.' He was suddenly a very agreeable fellow. He definitely didn't want Polgara to show him anything else.

Pol and I went on to the yellow-walled city of Vo Mimbre. Mimbrate poets have written all sorts of nonsense about their ‘city of gold,' but the plain truth of the matter is the fact that the quarries of the region produce yellow building stones. There wasn't anything mystic or even significant about it at all.

After the destruction of Vo Astur in 3822, the Mimbrate dukes had taken to calling themselves ‘The Kings of all Arendia,' but that was a fiction. The authority of that throne in Vo Mimbre stopped at the edge of the Arendish forest.

Arends aren't quite as stubborn as Tolnedrans are about certain peculiar things, so when Pol and I reached Vo Mimbre and identified ourselves, we were immediately escorted to the throne room of ‘King' Aldorigen XII. Aldorigen was a bit older than Duke Eldallan, and quite a bit bulkier. Mimbrates start wearing full armor when they're still children, and the sheer dead weight of all that steel puts muscle on them. It doesn't noticeably add brain-capacity, however.

Once again, I'll resist using the word ‘coincidence.' It just ‘happened' that Aldorigen
also
had a child of about eight years - a son named Korodullin.

Isn't
that
interesting?

Aldorigen was no less stubborn than Eldallan had been,
so Polgara was obliged to repeat her performance. The king came around as quickly as his Asturian counterpart had. The Asturians and Mimbrates have always claimed that they're completely different from each other. To be honest with you, though, I've never been able to really tell them apart, even though Mimbrates still use archaic speech and Asturians don't.